LIBRARY 

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GIFT    OF 


Class 


UBBABT 


Cftarlesi  l^iUiam  ^fterborn 

9n  ^prectatton 

bp  WiHiam  jTotoler  J|ops(on 

(Cogetter  taittti  a  IZPniiute  to  iHr.  H^berbom  in  Verste 

bp  ^tiellion  Cijenep 

^tt)  a  portrait  anb  tE\oo  $late« 


BERKELEY 

lilt  ti)t  ^tgn  of  tte  JPeriielep  (^afe 

M  C  M  X 


34- h 


Co/yrigkt,  1910  by  Sheldon  Chtntj 


222263 


•  •• 


.•:•: 


Charles!  Wmiam  ^fjcrbom,  3a.  €. 

iSln  iSppreciation  tip  W.  Jf.  %ops(on 

M> 

^■■^HERE  is  often  a  strong  feeling  of  hesitation  in 
gW\  venturing  to  approach  the  "Master"  who  stands 
^#|y  at  the  head  of  one's  own  profession,  supreme 
^■■^  as  to  service  and  accomplishment — the  master 
who  has  long  been  looked  up  to,  from  a  distance, 
with  respect  for  his  character  and  admiration  for  his 
achievements — and  even  though  the  meeting  has  been 
looked  forward  to  with  the  keenest  anticipations,  and 
hopeful  assurances  of  a  kindly  welcome,  yet  as  the  time 
draws  near  such  a  sense  of  diffidence  possesses  one  as 
to  cause  the  final  effort  to  seem  beyond  the  power  of 
the  will  to  compass.  One  moment  one  is  eager  to  go, 
the  next  depressed  by  all  sorts  of  reasons  why  it  were 
best  not  to  do  so.  Quite  a  little  of  this  feeling  took 
possession  of  me,  towards  the  subject  of  this  sketch, 
when  at  last,  after  long  years  of  waiting,  I  found  myself 
speeding  away  from  Tilbury  docks  on  to  London  Town. 
Possibly  some  of  this  nervousness  was  due,  and  coupled 
with,  a  certain  dread  of  the  great  City  itself.  In  my 
imagination  it  had  always  seemed  so  big,  so  overpower- 
ing, such  an  unwieldy  monster,  that  I  fully  expected 
to  feel  as  strange  and  helpless  as  a  crofter  there.  I 
smile  now  at  all  such  childish  fears.  Dear  Old  London  ! 
So  full  of  interest,  so  hospitable,  so  entertaining,  so 
restful  even  in  spite  of  her  teeming  millions;  the  home 
of  everything  that  counts,  the  Mecca  of  many  of  my 
most  cherished  day-dreams  as  man  and  boy. 

I  did  not  indeed  go  and  stand  in  the  street  where 
the  good  man  lived,  like  the  bashful  lover  in  the  story, 
and  turn  away  without  knocking  at  the  door,  but  I 

(11 


did  worse  t  ran  out  to  Salisbury  and  stayed  a  month. 
I  visited  Bath  and  Bristol,  with  other  places  in  the  West, 
for  another  month.  But  the  loadstone  of  desire  was 
strong  and  soon  took  me  back  to  the  City,  helped  some- 
what, I  must  confess,  by  a  letter  or  two  of  kindly  re- 
monstrance received  in  the  meantime. 

Much  has  been  said  and  written  of  English  reserve, 
but  when  once  esteem  and  confidence  have  been  estab- 
lished, so  that  both  parties  may  meet  upon  a  common 
ground  of  respect,  no  people  are  more  kindly,  more 
hospitable,  more  demonstrative  or  more  self-sacrificing 
in  their  friendships.  This  was  my  experience  in  more 
than  a  few  instances  during  my  year  of  vacation  in 
Great  Britain. 

Having  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  house  at  No.  1 
Finborough  Road,  as  well  as  rung  the  bell  (for  at  most 
places  in  that  favored  land  you  are  requested  on  a  neat 
little  sign  to  do  both)  and  been  admitted,  I  soon  found 
myself  upon  the  most  delightful  footing  of  friendship, 
whence  followed  a  winter  of  complete  enjoynient,  in- 
spiration and  education.  The  many  hours  spent  in 
that  pleasant  studio  at  the  top  of  the  house,  together 
with  the  no  less  happy  ones  passed  with  the  family 
lower  down,  will  be  held  fast  in  remembrance  so  long 
as  memory  serves.  Such  an  assembly  of  prints  as  any 
collector  might  take  pride  in  possessing,  hung  upon  the 
walls  or  filled  to  overflowing  fat  and  bulging  portfolios. 
These  were  spread  before  my  delighted  eyes  day  after 
day,  their  beauties  admired  and  discussed,  as  we  sat  by 
the  sputtering  and  dancing  fire,  before  a  truly  John 
Leech,  Christmas  Carol  little  coal-grate,  with  good 
cheer  ever  at  hand  simmering  upon  the  hob,  while  wit, 
kindly  gossip  and  keen  analysis  of  men  and  prints,  fell 
from  the  master's  lips.  And  whether  the  sun  shone 
upon  the  thousands  of  funny  roofs  and  funnier  chimney 
pots  in  sight,  or  the  fogs  of  London  closed  in  and 
softened  or  effaced  their  fantastic  outlines,  I  neither 
knew  nor  cared. 

Durer  and  Rembrandt^  Aldegrever,  the  Behams, 
Van  Leyden  and  Bewick,  with  others  of  the  "Little 
Masters,"  passed  in  review,  not  to  mention  many 
moderns  down  to  Linton,   Whistler  and  Sir  Seymour 

12J 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witin  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/cliarleswilliamshOOIiopsricli 


Haden.  It  is  easy  to  discern  where  Sherborn,  this 
latter-day  king  of  the  graver,  has  gone  for  inspiration 
and  example.  There  is  a  certain  strength  and  sweetness 
about  the  work  of  the  early  German  engravers  in  line, 
seldom  seen  in  modern  practice,  qualities  inherent  in 
the  early  flowings  of  the  streams  of  human  effort,  as 
there  are  in  nature's  rivers,  which  rarely  pertain  to 
later  and  deeper  floods.  The  "Little  Masters"  specially 
are  rich  in  feeling  and  true  in  technique;  they  did  more, 
by  their  example,  to  mould  the  destinies  of  engraving 
to  great  and  noble  ends  than  any  other  one  set  of  men. 
Craftsmen,  for  the  most  part,  are  but  creatures  of  cir- 
cumstance, products  of  their  own  particular  time  and 
country.  The  exception  is  the  occasional  man,  who 
(despite  the  tendencies  and  exactions  of  his  own  clime 
and  age,  when  that  age  has  passed  beyond  the  maturity 
of  its  powers),  having  the  strength  and  foresight,  insists 
upon  his  own  individuality,  dominates  his  environment, 
chooses  the  influences  which  mould  his  career,  and  by 
force  of  character  creates  his  own  circumstances.  Such 
a  man,  and  such  a  man  only,  will  impress  his  personality 
and  practice  upon  his  own  and  succeeding  generations. 

Charles  William  Sherborn  was  bom  June  14,  1831, 
at  43  Leicester  Square,  London.  The  foundation  for 
his  education  was  obtained,  as  was  that  of  most  English 
boys  of  the  time,  at  a  local  diocesan  school,  though  he 
studied  for  a  while  at  Cave  House,  near  Uxbridge.  But 
the  real  education  of  the  man  came  as  has  that  of  so 
many  of  the  world's  great  workers,  from  keen  personal 
observation,  constant  study,  and  close  contact  with 
other  men,  and  those  of  the  best.  The  following  facts, 
concerning  the  years  of  his  wander jahre,  are  taken  from 
the  Book  of  the  Sherborns  compiled  by  his  son  Charles 
Davies  Sherborn.  "Leaving  school  at  the  age  of  14, 
he  attended  the  Government  School  of  Drawing  and 
Design  at  Sommerset  House,  and  was  afterwards  ap- 
prenticed to  an  engraver  in  London.  In  1851  he  went 
to  Paris,  where  he  studied  art  for  nearly  twelve  months, 
living  in  the  Students'  Quarter  as  an  artisan.  From 
there  he  went  to  Rome,  where  he  had  the  good  fortime 
to  study  under  Pietro  Girometti,  the  medallist  and  cameo 
worker,  and  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  John  Gibson, 

[t] 


the  sculptor.  After  leaving  Rome  he  visited  Naples, 
Pisa,  Florence,  and  other  Italian  cities,  made  a  tour 
through  Tuscany,  and  returning  through  Switzerland, 
settled  in  Geneva  for  two  years.  Here  he  pursued  his 
craft  of  designer  and  gold-worker,  and  obtained  a 
general  knowledge  of  watch  and  clock  manufacture. 
He  became  a  member  of  the  Artist's  Club  and  of  the 
Swiss  Gymnastic  Society  of  Geneva.  Returning  to 
London  in  1856,  he  continued  his  work  till  1872,  when 
misfortune  in  business  gave  him  his  opportunity  of 
showing  his  true  powers  as  an  etcher  and  engraver  in 
pure  line.  During  the  time  spent  as  a  craftsman  Charles 
William  was  an  indefatigable  student,  working  at  the 
night  schools  at  South  Kensington  and  the  classes  at 
the  Royal  Academy.  His  earliest  exhibited  work  at 
the  Royal  Academy  was  in  1862-3,  and  since  that  date 
he  has  been  fairly  constantly  represented.  On  the 
foundation  of  the  Society  of  Painter-Etchers  in  1884 
he  was  chosen  one  of  the  original  members,  and  one  of 
the  finest  of  his  works  is  the  line-engraved  portrait  of 
his  friend,  the  President  of  the  Society,  Sir  Seymour 
Haden." 

The  art  of  engraving  in  all  its  branches  is  subject 
to  the  same  tendency  as  every  other  form  of  the  expres- 
sion of  man's  restless  industry,  namely  that  of  rise  and 
fall,  birth  and  decay;  being  born  in  strength  it  dies  in 
weakness,  and  that  not  once  or  twice  in  the  history  of 
the  art,  but  over  and  over  again  many  times. 

C.  W.  Sherborn  entered  the  ranks  of  metal  engravers 
for  printing  purposes  (circa  1860)  at  a  time  when  the 
art  was  well  nigh  at  its  lowest  ebb,  being  given  over  to 
the  universal  practice  of  machine-ruled  skies  and  every 
other  abomination  for  furthering  the  commercial  de- 
mands for  quick,  and  consequently  cheap,  reproduction 
of  light  and  shade,  seemingly  without  regard  for,  or 
knowledge  of,  beauty  of  line.  It  is  not  tone,  light  and 
shade  and  perfect  gradation  of  color,  that  piakes  an 
engraving  noble  and  worthy  of  all  admiration,  but  it  is 
fitness  and  beauty  of  line,  and  above  all,  in  the  final 
summing  up,  it  is  the  richness  of  each  individual  line, 
taken  in  connection  with  all  the  other  lines  in  the 
picture,  which  union  of  lines  has  the  supreme  quality 

[4] 


of  impressing  the  beholder  with  a  sense  of  atmospheric 
suggestion,  and  with  the  feeling  also  that  there  was 
the  utmost  freedom  in  execution,  for  without  full 
freedom  in  the  cutting  there  can  be  no  suggestion  of 
atmosphere  in  the  resultant  printing. 

As  in  1452  the  niello  cutters  of  Italy  had  but  little 
to  learn  in  regard  to  the  skilful  use  of  the  graver,  when 
they  finally  turned  their  attention  to  the  produc- 
tion of  copper  plates  for  printing  purposes,  so  our 
artist,  when  he  entered  this,  to  him,  new  field  of 
artistic  endeavors,  found  himself  already  well  equipped 
in  the  use  of  his  instrument  for  expression.  And  while 
there  has  been,  as  was  to  be  expected  as  time  rolled  on, 
a  steady  increase  in  power  over  the  graver,  a  subtler 
touch,  a  surer  and  more  delicate  hand  in  the  rendering 
of  forms  and  shades,  yet  the  evidence  of  the  finest 
artistic  feeling  is  not  lacking  in  those  plates  done  in 
earlier  years.  Whether  consciously  or  not,  the  engraver 
by  ignoring  the  prevailing  practice  of  his  own  day  and 
generation,  and  yielding  to  the  wholesome  influences 
of  the  earlier  workers,  merits  no  less  than  they  the 
honorable  title  of  "Little  Master,"  not  because  his 
works  are  small  as  measured  in  inches,  but  because  he 
has  kept  the  faith  and  labored  in  that  simple  and  direct 
style  of  truth  to  nature  and  first  regard  for  beauty  of 
technique.  Full  worthily  does  he  wear  the  robe  dropped 
from  their  shoulders  and  they  would  have  been  proud 
to  welcome  him  as  a  kindred  spirit  into  their  guild. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  the  portrait  of  Sir  Sejrmour 
Haden.  It  is  a  superb  piece  of  designing  and  engraving, 
worthy  to  rank  with  the  best  of  any  school,  rich  in  tone, 
true  in  choice  of  line,  combining  as  do  most  of  his  works, 
the  right  degree  of  strength  and  delicacy,  not  spoiled  by 
over-refinement,  but  satisfying  in  us  that  sense  which 
recognizes,  craves  and  demands  the  beautiful.  And 
while  on  the  subject  of  portraits  it  may  be  well  to  say 
that  the  artist  considers  that  this  is  the  department  in 
which  he  could  have  surpassed  all  his  other  efforts. 
And  he  feels,  feels  strongly,  and  justly  too,  that  he  should 
have  been  encoturaged  with  commissions  to  work  much 
more  largely  in  this  field.  The  heads  he  has  engraved 
will  cause  coming  lovers  of  the  limner's  art  to  regret 

[61 


the  short-sightedness  of  present-day  patrons,  and  the 
future  will  be  well  within  its  bounds  if  it  upbraids  us 
for  our  neglect  in  this  respect. 

His  portrait  of  Shakespeare,  from  his  own  design, 
is  but  another  evidence  in  favor  of  the  word  spoken 
above.  It  is  bright,  clear,  dignified,  noble  in  conception 
and  execution,  worthy  of  the  poet,  as  few  of  his  engraved 
presentments  have  been. 

Were  I  a  modern  Croesus,  and  thus  able  to  afford 
a  1623  folio,  I  would  place  these  two  together,  and  cry, 
"Alpha  and  Omega,  the  first  and  the  last;  and  the  first 
has  come  by  it*s  own".  If  this  should  seem  extrava- 
gant praise,  all  I  can  say  is,  just  examine  a  fine  proof 
from  this  plate  and  say  if  I  am  not  justified  in  this 
estimate. 

His  original  portrait  of  John  Phelps,  the  Putney 
waterman,  is  a  remarkable  piece  of  drawing  and  en- 
graving. It  has  nothing  in  common  with  the  practice 
of  our  time.  It  is  unique  to  a  degree.  It  shines  and 
sparkles  like  a  rare  old  piece  of  silver  in  the  sun.  It 
is  the  "golden  age"  of  engraving  born  anew.  Had 
Sherborn  never  done  anything  else  than  this  one  head 
it  would  carry  his  name  down  in  glory  as  long  as  ink 
and  paper  last. 

His  Apollo,  as  well  as  the  figures  on  his  own  personal 
book-plate,  show  how  successful  the  artist  has  been  in 
rendering  the  nude  with  dignity,  chastity  and  beauty. 
If  fortunate  enough  to  possess,  or  see,  a  copy  of  either 
of  these  rare  plates,  look  at  it  closely  with  reference  to 
the  one  quality  of  beauty  of  line. 

Many  other  plates  will  answer  as  well — the  Lord 
Battersea,  the  Burlington  Club,  the  Samuel  S.  Joseph 
or  the  Thomas  T.  Greg,  to  mention  only  a  few,  but  those 
of  the  best.  This  supreme  quality  of  beauty  of  line, 
sweet  line,  atmospheric  line,  is  conspicuous  in  all  of 
these  plates  and  many  others.  I  make  much  of  this 
point,  because  it  is  the  very  highest  quality  in  all  en- 
graving; without  this,  no  engraving  however  perfect  in 
other  respects  can  be  considered  great  and  noble.  The 
gift  of  beauty  of  line  is  wholly  a  matter  of  feeling,  for 
it  can  neither  be  taught  nor  acquired.  It  is  a  royal 
endowment  out  of  the  great  tmknown,  some  nervous 

[6] 


connection  between  the  brain  and  hand  of  the  artist. 
I  know  of  no  metal  engraver  of  ancient  or  modern 
practice  who  has  surpassed  our  friend  in  this  respect. 
Strange  as  it  may  appear,  few  engravers  on  metal  have 
possessed  this  highest  quality  in  any  great  degree,  while 
many  wood  engravers  have,  and  more  etchers  have  been 
so  gifted  than  either.  The  engraver  himself  does  not 
consider  this,  nor  would  it  avail  him  if  he  did.  His 
mind  is  occupied  with  other  things — form,  color  and 
composition — necessary  adjuncts,  but  all  to  be  attained 
to  by  thought  and  labor.  Not  so  this  other.  "Which 
of  you  by  taking  thought  can  add  one  cubit  tmto  his 
stature."  Neither  can  he  in  this  other  respect,  but, 
endowed  at  birth  with  this  God-given  gift  of  feeling  for 
beauty  of  line,  our  artist  shall  not  lack  in  other  directions, 
but  be  counted  as  kindred  with  those  who,  standing 
alone,  loom  up  in  bold  relief  above  their  fellows,  land- 
marks in  the  art  of  engraving  for  all  time,  like  Aldegrever, 
Rembrandt,  Edelinck,  Bewick  and  Linton. 
**He  that  hath  eyes  to  see,  let  him  see." 


(Thanks  are  due  to  Mr.  Sherbom  for  his  kindness 
in  overseeing  the  printing  of  the  two  illustrations  from 
his  original  coppers,  and  to  Mr.  Robert  Bay  for  permission 
to  use  his  plate  in  this  form.  The  portrait  of  Mr. 
Sherborn  was  taken  in  his  studio  by  Mr.  Hopson,  in 
September  of  this  year. ) 


[7J 


tKo  Cijarleg  William  ^fterborn 

Thus,  in  the  jewelled  East,  skilled  craftsmen  old 
Thread  opals,  smoldering  fires,  on  chains  of  gold 
To  pendants  of  surpassing  loveliness 
That  rival  the  white  throats  which  they  caress. 
Thus  slender  hands  in  flower-strewn  Japan, 
In  memory  of  some  dream  of  bathing  girl 
Glimpsed  on  the  flashing  sands,  from  lustrous  pearl 
Fashion  a  white-limbed  Venus,  fairer  than 
The  slim  and  faultless  model. 

But,  Master!    Through  the  labyrinthine  ways 
Of  beauty's    world  I  wandered  wistful  days. 
Nor  knew  the  wonder  of  the  graven  line 
So  wrought  with  love  and  pain,  till  I  saw  thine. 
For  in  it  glows  the  opaPs  fire,  and  glint 
Of  ivory  limbs,  love-wrought  in  jewelled  print. 
For  only  Durer's  burin  has  yet  caught 
Such  brilliants  in  the  mesh  of  line,  and  wrought 
In  such  deep,  subtle  meanings. 

Yea,  these  long-treasured  little  prints  of  thine 
Had  not  been  stored  with  all  life's  pretty  things — 
Dew-moistened  flowers;  the  purple  patterned  wings 
Of  butterflies;  and  sweet  pale  women  more  divine 
Than  mortal;  simple  truth;  and  the  clear  flame 
Of  perfect  beauty  lighting  all — except 
That  thou  hadst  had  a  poet's  heart,  and  wept 
With  music.     Poet-graver,  know  thy  name 
Deathless  till  beauty  dies. 

Sheldon  Cheney. 


[8] 


One  hundred  copies  of  this  essay  are 
reprinted  from  The  Book-plate  Booklet 
of  November,  Nineteen  hundred  and  ten. 

This  is  number    3^^ 


C.w.Sherbom 


MAY  IS  193§A.rii.UJg-APB 


-SikTS^^*'^^-'*™ 


rci77 


22263 


a^ 


t.lBRARY 


